


Hannibal stuff

by plum_blossom, Weirdo_with_ideas (plum_blossom)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24074188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plum_blossom/pseuds/plum_blossom, https://archiveofourown.org/users/plum_blossom/pseuds/Weirdo_with_ideas
Summary: This is just where I drop short studies about Hannibal the TV show. Check it out, don't check it out, either way have a nice day.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. A little prologue

Hello, welcome to this little book of Hannibal stuff. 

So, recently my bestie convinced me to watch Hannibal (shout out to Anna, thank you) and the aesthetic, fic-writing, literature-loving hoe I am, I started just writing down stuff about the show.   
It's character studies, rewrites of scenes, stuff I needed to get out of my head after seeing it... 

They turned out to be quite nice and I wanted to share them. So here they are!   
These will most likely contain spoilers, but when they do, I'll put a warning at the beginning of the chapter. (I myself am still at the beginning of the show.) 

Anyways, enjoy these drafts and notes and studies :)


	2. "Good." - Will Graham

"Good," Will said the way he always said it. 

It sounded throaty, unwelcome. As if the word was an intruder on his tongue. As if it tasted bittersweet. He said it with a questioning subtone as if its meaning was something he couldn't comprehend. As if 'good' was something abstract that didn't fit into his world. As if all the things that could be described as 'good' were too dull or too unsuspicious to ever have a prominent place in his life. As if 'good' was just a word other people that weren't him used to desribe a boring, but acceptable moment in their life.   
'Good' was too easy, too common, too normal, too pleasant.   
Nothing was 'good' for him.


	3. The thing about Hannibal and how he won

"I don't find you that interesting." 

The thing about Hannibal was that he was through and through likable.   
From the way he dressed to the way he spoke and the way he carried himself. He was a gentleman, a respectful person, maybe even a feminist. He was a good cook and apparently a very professional therapist.   
He was very likable. Except he wasn't of course.   
But considering all of the facts mentioned above, one couldn't blame Will for liking Hannibal. 

When Doctor Lecter answered "You will." on that very day and Will frowned slightly, narrowing his eyes at the doctor, nobody could have blamed him.   
Will didn't know where the meat between his teeth came from. He didn't know what lay behind Hannibal's façade. Presumably he himself didn't know whether he wanted to know who Hannibal really was, or not.   
Because Will had felt that something about Hannibal was off from the very first moment on. Something was obviously _wrong_ with this witful, mysterious man. He was too neat, his words too pleasant and polite, he was just a little _too_ untouchable. 

The light had fallen in stripes on his face, illuminating his features and subconsciously Will had already lost this fight. He had already lost himself to Hannibal, he had already agreed to let Hannibal slip into his life.   
Like a shadow - like an innocent looking dog. Until the dog started snarling of course, showing his teeth. But by then it was too late. And the dog could sink its canines into the flesh and tear it apart, slowly and enjoying every moment, every single crack of a bone, every drop of blood. 

Hannibal had won, long before Will had realized they were fighting.


	4. Hannibal and Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Low-key huge spoilers for the end of the show, I'm very sorry.
> 
> Also I'm kind of referring to the book "Hannibal rising" in the beginning of the text, just saying so people don't get confused.

Hannibal Lecter had a way around words like only few people did. He used anecdotes and comparisons, charmed people with his sentences, manipulated people with the sound of his voice, he could talk opinions into people's minds without them knowing.   
He put this skill to use as a therapist and within his every day life, many times, if not constantly.   
Yet, he hadn't always been like that. 

War leaves its scars not only on the skin.

Hannibal had witnessed his sister's murder, had witnessed cannibalism, had lost his family and his belief. He had turned to cannibalism out of need and hunger. He had killed people out of wanting to make justice.   
He could remember the first time he'd killed someone, slit someone open with a blade, blood all over his hands. He had been young back then, had killed out of rage.   
That man - he'd laid there, leant against the wall, bleeding out - he had been calling Hannibal's only family names. Had called his aunt a slut, because of her origin and nationality. Hannibal had loved his aunt. It was the closest thing to love that he knew. 

Back then he'd been quieter. Almost mute.   
He hadn't known how to use language. Now he did. He knew a lot of things now, he was intelligent - but that he had always been. At a young age he could already solve mathematic puzzles and answer questions that seemed way too difficult for a child of his age.   
But it didn't fascinate him as much as human nature, neither did it upset him as much. 

He had started studying humans in an attemt to understand them - it intrigued him. He had cut himself off, had lost all connection to his own humanness. He saw himself as an observer, but also someone who was in control - in control of what others thought of him, in control of the other's opinions, in control of what would happen next and in control at all times. He saw himself as a God-like being and yet he blended in, so that he could study - Study the intriguing human mind. 

Then it was, that he stumbled across a word. A word he couldn't comprehend - its meaning did not feel obvious and easy, its use was no use to him. 

_Love_

What was it? He felt lost when he though of it.   
Every time he thought he had understood it, it slipped away, changed its shape, suddenly turned into something completely different. 

People used this word so often, these expressions - falling in love, being in love, loving, to love, my love, he loves, they love, falling out of love...   
Often that four-letter word was the reason people came to Hannibal, the reason they would look for a therapist. 

Attraction, sex, lust, obsession, jealousy, affection - all of these things he did know, he did understand. But love? Love was like a stranger to him, a stranger that refused to talk to him, refused to open up and reveal itself. 

He didn't let it bother him and he never ever told anybody. That was, because he'd gotten good at talking, had found his way into conversation, had found his way to protect himself.   
He didn't let anybody see the troubles beneath his skin, never told anyone about his struggles. He didn't trust anyone. 

But he wasn't as in control as people thought. There were times when he broke down, let his guard slip just for a second, one relieving second. It felt good, yet he tried not to think about it, because it made him want to stay like that - off guard, simple, vulnerable - and he didn't want that, he needed to stay save, needed to hide behind the persona that he'd created for the sake of an image that could never be seen through - after all this time, not even by himself. 

Love.   
He didn't even know how to say it. But he pushed it away, didn't think about it for a long time...   
Until he met Will. 

Will was to Hannibal a symbol for human empathy.   
There's differences between empathy, sympathy and compassion.   
An empathic person can feel the way that somebody else has felt.  
A sympathetic person knows how somobody else has felt.  
And compassion - compassion is what happens when one person wants to help the other feel better. 

One doesn't have to be empathetic or sympathetic to be compassionate. And sometimes the most empathetic are not compassionate at all - for example Will. 

Empathy, sympathy, compassion.   
The first three words that Hannibal had thought when Jack had told him about Will. 

Anxiety, antisociality, pain.  
Were the next three words that came to his mind when he looked into Will's eyes. 

Broken. Offended. Scared. Tired. Alone.   
The list went on and on until Hannibal came to a conclusion:   
Interesting. 

Will was, unlike most people, not dull. Not boring.   
He was empathetic. And Hannibal liked it. Hannibal liked the way that Will could think like somebody else, could _feel_ like somebody else - like a murderer - like Hannibal.   
He liked it.   
He liked it, but he didn't love it. 

Attraction. Attraction crept into his mind, attraction crept into his fingertips, his stomach and loins.   
It was something unsettling. But he liked it, still. It was new, it was exciting, it was - interesting. 

Some people may have called Hannibal Lecter a genius. But that genius didn't see when the one thing he'd been trying to understand for years was staring him in the face.   
Love. 

He had never been able to put a finger on exactly what it was that existed between him and Will. Some kind of bond, attraction, dependency - the latter, Hannibal was really scared of, though he didn't show it. 

He didn't understand until the end. When they were too close. At the brim of death, breathing each other's breath, the stench of blood in their noses, hands grasping onto the other desperately.   
Will was so real, then, so close, so warm. 

Hannibal let his guard down for the sake of the one thing he never understood - love. He held onto this man as though he'd rather die than let go.   
And he was human. For that moment, he allowed hinself to be human, to exist in the knowledge of not being in control, standing there with Will, covered in blood.   
_All I ever wanted_

And he got it. Love. There it was - Messy and human and strange and imperfect, yet... beautiful. 

Will took this opportunity. He took this moment of Hannibal's comfort, his openness, his armourless, naive affection - to kill him. And to kill the two of them. 

Hanninal didn't want to fight anymore, didn't want to hide - so he didn't.   
He just fell. 

Falling in love, falling out of love... He realized there was a 'being in love' in between. 

The jump that his heart made when there suddenly was no ground beneath his feet, the way his stomach dropped, his head spinned... He felt lost again. But there was Will. 

The last thing that Hannibal thought, before the impact of the water broke his neck, was whether death would relieve them of the weigh that was love, whether it would put an end to their coexistence for good and an end to the poisonous thing that was love to him. 

In the end there weren't many words for Hannibal to handle.


End file.
